


cages

by jessamoo



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2015-02-09
Packaged: 2018-03-11 06:09:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3317060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessamoo/pseuds/jessamoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>after captain lance finds out about sara, felicity has to help stop laurel from making a mistake</p>
            </blockquote>





	cages

When Laurel opens the door, her tear filled eyes are dull and heavy. She's rubbed them red raw and Felicity can tell from the dark splotches coating her normally soft pink cheeks that she had stopped bothering to wipe at her mascara some time ago.

Without a word Laurel steps aside to let her in, following her as Felicity stands awkwardly in the unfamiliar apartment.

Felicity, without meaning too, imagines everything she knew had happened here. She imagines Tommy falling asleep on the couch, its normally pristine cushion arrangement now haphazard and forgotten. She imagines Oliver being smashed against the floor the last time a fight broke out here. 

And as she looks around, her eyes fall on the dark mahogany coffee table, the magazines and coasters littering the floor around it like Laurel had shoved everything off in a fit of emotion. Her eyes narrow, because all of those homely things have been replaced now by a single bottle of whiskey, its honey liquid catching the glare of the lamplight, making it glow like a beacon.

Laurel watched her take this in with her arms folded and when Felicity turns to her, her mouth open in shock and something that acutely, painfully, looks like disappointment, she flops down on the couch beside the table with a sigh, not meeting her eye.

"I didn't drink any of it." She supplies in a weary tone.

"Why do you have this?" Felicity hisses, glaring at the offending object, hovering around the table like it might explode if she gets too close.

Laurel rolled her eyes, but its an act of flippancy and they both know it. "I'm an alcoholic." She shrugs despondently.

"No, Laurel." Felicity snaps, and Laurel is surprised at the anger in her tone, and she finally looks at her properly, blinking a few stray tears away and biting her lip like a nervous child. "I mean why do you have this?" Felicity repeats, stressing each word slowly, staring down at her like she's trying to pry the answer right out of her brain without words.

"I...I just..." Laurel shook her head and stared at the bottle, like it could give her speech.

 

Felicity knew the answer, mostly. She knew it had been one of the worst days. 

Captain Lance had finally worked it out. He had finally stepped out of the shadow of denial. He had finally answered that nagging feeling at the back of his mind that something wasn't right, and when he did, he knew without doubt. He knew with absolute, terrible clarity, that his bright sunbeam of a daughter, his Sara, was no longer in the world. That she was in the darkness she had fought so hard to escape. She was buried in a box with the dirt and the insects, in a grave that had been calling her name.

And Laurel had lied. She had kept it from him, and now he knew. Felicity knew she had just wanted to protect him. They all did. She had helped her do it. But she wasn't seeing through the eyes of a man that had lost his daughter twice. Laurel had had to stare into those eyes and see the heartbreak. Felicity didn't think she would have been able to bare it. Apparently Laurel wasn't baring it very well either.

"Do you think he'll ever forgive me?" She whispered. She looks up at Felicity again, her eyes wide now, searching, pleading.

Felicity feels a great chasm roar open inside of her, like seeing someone so strong look so lost hollowed her out completely. "Yes." She stutters as she speaks, fighting against a tide of emotion that choked her, stuck her cotton tongue to the roof of her mouth. "Your his daughter. He'll forgive you anything."

Laurel wipes at her face and Felicity finally moves to sit next to her. She takes her coat off, placing it with her bag by her feet as she sits back, staring at the whiskey again. Laurel sees her settling in, knows she's going to stay as long as she needs her without thought, and she covers a tiny grateful smile with her shaking fingers.

"I..." Laurel starts again, but hesitates. This is not like it was at her meetings. She had been learning to share there, learning to open herself up. At the beginning it had felt like cracking open her ribcage and letting all those people poke and prod at her insides, like doctors hidden behind masks. But she had come to welcome the sharing, she had come to rely on it. But it was still anonymous, they were still people she didn't really know. Might not see again.

Felicity was different. They were sat so close she could feel the warmth of her as their shoulders brushed. In the low lamp light she was struck by a casual, silent intimacy between them. She didn't want that to shatter. She didn't want to have to see Felicity everyday and know that she had lost her, that she had separated them.

Felicity looks up at her as she trails off, and sees her hesitation. Before Laurel can build up that cage around her again, she reaches out and takes her hand carefully, rubbing small circles with her thumb until she feels Laurel relax.

"I want to go to sleep without seeing her face." Laurel whispers, her eyes drifting closed. Her brows furrow like she's in pain. Felicity doesn't have to ask who she means.

"I think about her all the time. I wonder if she'd be proud of me. And sometimes I have good dreams. Sara is there and she's happy. Sometimes I dream memories, but they're all different. In my dreams all the times we argued are gone."

"I'm guessing those aren't the dreams you want to drink away." Felicity urges knowingly.

Laurel shoots her a self deprecating smile and nods. "The nightmares are more common. They're...they are bad. You know when she fell of that roof...I picked her up and...I had her blood all over my hands. And she was heavy and broken and gone. And in my nightmares she is always like that. I used to dream that she was screaming, that she was drowning. And now I only dream that she's gone. That her body is empty...that she's void. That she...is....dead." Laurel tightens her grip on Felicity's hand, their fingers knotting almost painfully together. "And I think that's worse."

Felicity feels tears stinging at her eyes but she can't stop looking at Laurel. This family, she thinks. These women, these sisters. They are going to leave a hole in me that cannot be filled.

Laurel, like Sara, was almost otherworldly to her. Or, like Sara, she had been at one point. Until she let her in, until she really saw her. And she realised that she was human. That she was kind and brave and smart and she was her friend. For so long Felicity had felt this gnawing jealously over the Lance sisters. The women Oliver tangled himself up in. But now she felt none of that. Ever since they had become friends she had been so grateful for her. Grateful not only to see strength in her, but to know she wasn't alone now. That she had someone to share her secrets with. And so to see Laurel like this damn near broke her heart. Because she was one of her best friends and she didn't know how to make it better.

She did know one thing she had to do though.

"You need to get rid of that bottle." She says. "Because the nightmares are going to keep coming, and diving head first into the abyss is not going to change anything. And...and your dad might be mad at you, he might be devastated with you. But he would never, ever want you to hurt yourself like that. And neither do I, and neither would Sara."

Laurel stares at her, her earnest belief in her that she can throw the stupid bottle away, the sincerity in her eyes, and she finds that she wants to prove her right. Oliver had always said Felicity was like a moral compass for the team. That she was a heartbeat in that darkness, she was the one that called them all home, the steady rhythm of her pulsing inside of them. And she knew now that was true. She wanted to follow that pull to safety. Wanted to be the person Felicity saw. She begins to realise why everyone Felicity met seemed enchanted with her. She realises why she had always felt warm to her, a connection to her, even just hearing Oliver and Sara talk about her, before she really even got to know her. Felicity had that thing, that undefinable thing that made you love her. Oliver and Sara loved her, and Laurel feels the dawning comprehension that she loves her too, in whatever way. That she had within her a capacity love her even more deeply, and that she wanted that capacity, that flicker, to spread over her skin and into her veins.

"You said you wonder whether Sara would be proud of you...so make her proud, and pour that whiskey down the god damn drain." Felicity finishes, her voice hard, strong and clear, her eyes burning.

Laurel feels that same surge of emotion in the pit of her stomach, like something waking up and stretching out inside of her. She nods quickly and jumps up, grabbing the bottle and twisting the cap off as she stamps over to the kitchen sink with it. Felicity stands and follows her.

Her hand hovering over the drain, Laurel takes a look over her shoulder. Felicity nods supportively.

So she turns back and watches the molten liquid splash into the silver sink and disappear. She finds somehow that she isn't sad to see it go, because she knows when she turns around that Felicity will still be there with her. She feels excited about that, feels her heart quicken with possibility as she turns back, the bottle now empty in her hand, to see Felicity smiling proudly at her, her hands pressed to her cheeks.

Laurel places the bottle down carefully and moves toward Felicity slowly. Felicity grins and places her hands against Laurel's cheeks instead. "I'm proud of you." She laughs happily. "I am."

Laurel nods gratefully.

She likes the feel of Felicity's hands against her skin. It scares her that it feels so natural.

She hopes it isn't the last time she feels it.

 

(it isn't.)


End file.
